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Then came the gut-punch of recognition.Brock.
Brock Michaels, the late Mrs. Michael’s son.
The boy who had cruelly rejected her when she finally worked up the courage to ask him to Senior Prom after months of nursing a hopeless crush on him. Back then, he’d exuded an unshakable confidence.
He still did… along with a hefty wallop of sheer animal magnetism.
Oh, crap.
Chapter Three - Brock
Summer Snowberry was back in town.
Even worse, she washere. In his diner.
The star of Brock Michael’s high school wet dreams was currently sitting across the table from sweet old Mrs. Snowberry, his chief investor and business partner.
If the blonde teenaged girl had been a diamond in the rough, the woman looking him over right now was a polished gem, her gaze as hard and cool as sapphires set in platinum.
The weight of her gaze pressed on his chest like a boulder, squeezing the breath from him.
Shit.
Brock had spent all four years of high school trying to push down his feelings for her.
Even as a dumb-ass kid, he’d known he had nothing to offer the smart, pretty girl from the richest family in town. That knowledge hadn’t stopped his brain from featuring her in a nightly parade of X-rated fantasies, though.
She’d left town right after high school graduation to attend some fancy-pants culinary academy in California. In the years since then, Brock had done his best to forget her.
Impossible to do when her grandparents were the richest people in Paradise Valley, and both Summer and her younger sister Winter were celebrities these days.
Everyone in town eagerly followed them on social media and in the news. He couldn’t escape hearing all the breathless gossip about Summer’s award-winning restaurant for rich people in San Francisco, and Winter’s popular HomeRenoTV show about restoring old houses in Seattle.
Right now, though, he was relieved to note that despite the one-two punch to his gut, his legs were still moving smoothly and he hadn’t dropped the plates he carried. Because ruining Mrs. S’s brunch would just be the cherry on top of today’s dirt sundae.
“Brock!” Mrs. S’s bright blue eyes, the same shade as Summer’s, lit up as he approached the booth. A delighted smile stretched her lips, and warmth radiated from her, as if seeing Brock had made her day. She was like that with everyone, but that didn’t make it feel less real. She made him feel like hemattered. “How are things going, dear?”
“Doin’ okay, Mrs. S,” he lied. Despite her repeated urging, he just couldn’t bring himself to call her “Abigail.” It felt disrespectful. “Been a busy day so far,” he added, placing her waffle and sides in front of her.
“Busy” was a total understatement.
His day had been complete shit so far, starting with the realization that Kenny, the diner’s longtime manager, had forgotten to phone in the week’s orders to the restaurant supply place in Bozeman.Again.
Since this was Kenny’s second fuck-up in a month, Brock hadn’t tried to restrain his temper. He’d yelled that maybe,justmaybe, Kenny should stop fucking relying on his memory and actuallywriteouta fucking To Do list.
In response, Kenny had quit on the spot. The old guy had stormed out of the kitchen right before the morning rush started.
Brock wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or panicked at Kenny’s departure.
Sure, he’d had been Mama’s right-hand man, helping her keep the place afloat after Dad left. Back when Brock was still washing dishes before and after school and on weekends, Kenny had taught him how the restaurant business worked.
But Kenny hadn’t adjusted well to Brock becoming his boss after Mama’s death last year. And Brock was never sure if Kenny’s screw-ups were deliberate sabotage or just a sign that it was finally time for him to retire.
In any case, Mrs. S didn’t need to know about any of that. Especially not with Ms. Fancy Pants Executive Chef right there.
“Brock, you remember my granddaughter, Summer?” Mrs. S asked, right on cue. “She came back home for Frank’s funeral. I thought I’d bring her by and show what you’ve done with the diner.”
Summer’s smile looked forced. She said nothing, but the way she avoided his gaze told Brock she probably thought his place fell short.
